The Valley of Silent Men eBook

In spite of the unpleasant tension of the moment,
it cheered Father Layonne to see this old humor returning
into the heart of his friend. With him love was
an enduring thing. He might grieve for James
Kent, he might pray for the salvation of his soul,
he might believe him guilty, yet he still bore for
him the affection which was too deeply rooted in his
heart to be uptorn by physical things or the happenings
of chance. So the old cheer of his smile came
back, and he said:

“To fight for his life is a privilege which
God gives to every man, Jimmy. I was terrified
when I came to you. I believed it would have
been better if you had died. I can see my error.
It will be a terrible fight. If you win, I shall
be glad. If you lose, I know that you will lose
bravely. Perhaps you are right. It may be
best to see Inspector Kedsty before you have had time
to think. That point will have its psychological
effect. Shall I tell him you are prepared to
see him?”

Kent nodded. “Yes. Now.”

Father Layonne went to the door. Even there he
seemed to hesitate an instant, as if again to call
upon Kent to reconsider. Then he opened it and
went out.

Kent waited impatiently. His hand, fumbling at
his bedclothes, seized upon the cloth with which he
had wiped his lips, and it suddenly occurred to him
that it had been a long time since it had shown a
fresh stain of blood. Now that he knew it was
not a deadly thing, the tightening in his chest was
less uncomfortable. He felt like getting up and
meeting his visitors on his feet. Every nerve
in his body wanted action, and the minutes of silence
which followed the closing of the door after the missioner
were drawn out and tedious to him. A quarter
of an hour passed before he heard returning footsteps,
and by the sound of them he knew Kedsty was not coming
alone. Probably le pere would return with him.
And possibly Cardigan.

What happened in the next few seconds was somewhat
of a shock to him. Father Layonne entered first,
and then came Inspector Kedsty. Kent’s
eyes shot to the face of the commander of N Division.
There was scarcely recognition in it. A mere
inclination of the head, not enough to call a greeting,
was the reply to Kent’s nod and salute.
Never had he seen Kedsty’s face more like the
face of an emotionless sphinx. But what disturbed
him most was the presence of people he had not expected.
Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, the magistrate,
and behind McDougal entered Constables Felly and Brant,
stiffly erect and clearly under orders. Cardigan,
pale and uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer.
Scarcely had they entered the room when Constable
Pelly pronounced the formal warning of the Criminal
Code of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police, and Kent
was legally under arrest.